AppId is over the quota
AppId is over the quota
After months—years, even—of anticipation, graduation has come and gone. The four days of ceremonies, receptions and endless photo sessions with family members have ended, and I am now an alumnus of Georgetown University. The comfort of college life is over and has been replaced by nostalgia and guarded optimism.
Within hours of my graduation, I was already transitioning into an unknown life of fluidity and homelessness. My on-campus housing ended two weeks before I could move in to my summer sublease. This was problematic. Conveniently, I had two trips planned that would provide some semblance of a home. I still had logistical hurdles to overcome, however. I packed up my belongings into several boxes and distributed them among friends who kindly agreed to hold on to them while I traveled.
My first trip was a quick 36-hour visit to Phoenix for my sister’s high school graduation. I arrived late on a Monday night and left Wednesday morning. I would have liked to see my own high school friends, but the timing was simply not amenable to such arrangements. (I was able to meet with close family friends for lunch on Tuesday before the graduation ceremony, though). It was strange to see my sister and her friends graduate; I have known of most of them since they were in elementary school. Now, here they were receiving high school diplomas. I felt old. By Wednesday evening, I was back in Washington.
AFP/Getty ImagesThe next day, I swapped suitcases and made my way to the airport, again. Last November, I applied for and was selected to participate in the American delegation to the Model G8/G20 summit in Paris. I prepared for my role as secretary of state throughout the spring semester, versing myself in our policies toward the Arab Spring and international crisis management. Along the way, I became incredibly close with the rest of the team. I was excited for my trip to France because it would be a professional development opportunity as well as a personal escape from the routine of Beltway life.
Paris was amazing. I purposely arrived a few days before the summit to enjoy the city. My first day could not have been more stereotypical: I walked from the Louvre through the Jardin des Tuileries and the Place de la Concorde to the Champs-Élysées and eventually across the Seine on the Alexandre III bridge to wander in the 7th arrondisement (stopping for cheese and a baguette) on my way to the Eiffel Tower.
There is something very surreal about Paris. The late-night lights, the cafes, the architecture and the pace of life are all unique elements of French culture that stand in stark contrast with my daily regimen. I often had to remind myself that I was in Paris primarily for “work” and not on a carefree and glamorous movie set, though it certainly felt that way at times.
A week’s worth of negotiations and strategy meetings were at times frustrating and definitely tiring. But the experience was well worth it because of the great networking opportunities offered and the strong friendships forged. My final days in Paris were dedicated to relaxing and exploring the nooks of the city with friends living there: Montmartre and the Sacré-Cœur basilica, the Latin Quarter and the Notre Dame cathedral, the Arc de Triomphe and the diverse and artistic Marais district. As much as I enjoyed my Parisian adventure, it had to come to an end sooner or later.
I returned to Washington on board the first commercial A380 flight between the French and American capital cities (I am an aviation industry aficionado) and soon reality struck. I went through my e-mail account to find notifications from four employers that the positions had been filled. I was expecting responses while I was in Paris, but I was hopeful that at least one application would lead to an interview at the very least. Then I took a look at my bank account; Paris left a hole in my wallet. With bills to pay and other expenses related to moving and summer subleasing, I had no option but to ask for a bailout from the Bank of Mom.
This is how the summer of unemployment begins. I can only afford to stay in Washington for so long before I have to pack my bags and move back to Phoenix. I continue to apply for jobs and have started volunteering to keep myself busy during the day. During the evenings, I catch up with friends and enjoy the city. More and more I find myself resembling Gil Pender, the protagonist in Woody Allen’s “Midnight in Paris.” I am longing for an idealized past—whether as a tourist in Paris or a student at Georgetown—in order to avoid the complicated present and postpone the uncertain future. The clock is ticking.
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